


Til It Stops Shining

by moreculturelesspop



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Always a Different Sex, Alternate Universe - Croatoan/Endverse (Supernatural), Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Always Female Dean Winchester, Angst, Blood, Character Death, Childbirth, F/M, Male Castiel/Female Dean Winchester, Pregnancy, Stillbirth, Unplanned Pregnancy, graphic childbirth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-04
Updated: 2020-07-04
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:13:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25077421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moreculturelesspop/pseuds/moreculturelesspop
Summary: Getting knocked up in the middle of an apocalypse wasn’t her finest move.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 5
Kudos: 48





	Til It Stops Shining

**Author's Note:**

> Check tags for triggers. This is a pretty dark and depressing endverse fic.

Getting knocked up in the middle of an apocalypse wasn’t her finest move. Contraception was in short supply and she had tried to keep her passions strictly towards women, it was generally safer. The birth control went first and condoms were almost a commodity these days. But Cas, her fallen angel, was her Achilles heel. He was the only person who really understood, about Sam, about Michael, about the apocalypse. He was the only place that felt like home in this broken world.

Their bodies entwined was sometimes the only thing that made sense. Cas could rarely finish, too jacked up or whatever the fuck he had taken that day to come. She rarely came, rarely relaxed enough to be able to fully let her body melt into his touch. She only orgasmed when he’s alert enough to use his fingers and mouth on her. He can only come after he shoots someone to death. The child growing inside her has to be his, she wouldn’t play with the possibilities of getting knocked up with anyone else.

Usually, it’s not just about sex, that’s just the excuse. It’s about the way he looks at her, the way he holds her, his breath on her neck, there was an intimacy she had never felt in her life.

At first she thinks she’s suffering from food poisoning, the rations must have gone off, but then her body starts to change. She can smell everything, her taste buds totally change and her breasts start to become sore. She never stayed in a school long enough to receive the proper sex education, but she knows the symptoms. She ignores them because she has to.

She carries on being their fearless leader, throwing up as subtlety as she can. She steals shirts from the larger men in the camp so she can easily hide her bump. Once the vomiting subsides, which she presumes means she’s in her second trimester, she can go about her day like normal. If they suspect anything, they never say it. She’s lucky her bump is small, her child probably malnutritional and dying. She can’t let herself get attached, there is no way it will be okay, and if it survives birth, it won’t last ten minutes in the camp. Every day she goes to the bathroom and doesn’t see blood is another day where losing their child will be harder.

Cas doesn’t mention it when she rides him. He needed a way to relax, she needed a way to let it out. Another camp member gone, it was her fault, and she couldn’t self-medicate like she used to. Every drop of alcohol that had entered her body in the last six months was swiftly projectile vomited out. Her stomach is clearly noticeable, as Cas clings onto her hips. The sex feels exactly the same as it always has. It’s not about getting off, it’s about feeling alive in a world of death.

“Whose is it?” he asks, after they fall apart, rolling a joint.

“Who knows,” she snorts. She knows. There was only ever him, anyone else would feel like cheating. She doesn’t want him to feel guilty when it dies. She absent mindlessly rubs the swell of her belly, it’s hard and stretched and feels too heavy for her body. He doesn’t seem too bothered by it, he lights the joint and offers it to her. She declines and falls asleep on his shoulder as he smokes it.

When she wakes up _that_ day her body feels like exactly the same as it always has. Heavy, tired, constantly nauseous, always needing to pee. The good news is, the baby moved recently, so she finally has her lung capacity back. In fact, her joints hurt a little less, and her stomach cramps have eased. Time moves so strangely she has no idea where she is in her pregnancy.

She drives her team out for the day, it’s a pointless exercise but everyone gets back alive. She feels the pangs on the drive back to camp, they were different to the familiar tightening she often felt. Her baby is still alive and kicking around, making themselves known by her ribcage. She ignores the pains, driving quicker than she should have. She suddenly feels a wetness underneath her, soaking into the seat. She knew during the mission that her body felt different, things were loosening up and in only meant one thing. She tries to act normal, but she instinctively clutches the wheel as a pressure takes over her pelvis.

She doesn’t bother for the others to get out the jeep before she runs to the safest place she can think of; Cas’ cabin. He has three women in his cabin but she doesn’t care, she needs him right now. She practically collapses on the floor of his cabin, her body telling her she needed to be on all fours. He immediately knows what’s happening to her and tells the girls to go. He doesn’t say anything, he just kneels down beside her and looks at her face. They make eye contact, she lets him know it’s okay and he lets her know that he’s there. He gives her the space she needs, making sure his cabin stays empty and quiet.

They stay like this for hours. Her crouching and breathing through contractions, him going about his business and occasionally rubbing her back when she groans loudly. They don’t speak, her pants and moans the only thing filling up the cabin. “Cas, I can’t do this,” she finally says, collapsing onto her elbows. He sits down next to her, hand on her back.

“What can I do?” he finally says. She doesn’t know what he can do, she’s scared and alone, she wishes her mom, her brother, hell even her father was there holding her hand. She holds her hand out and he takes it, pulling her into him. He helps her maneuverer into a position so she’s sat between his legs and curled into his side. He lifts up her huge green plaid shirt and traces patterns into her bare belly. He takes her by surprise by kissing her. It’s a deep and passionate kiss, the hand not rubbing the swell of stomach, cupping the back of her neck. She leans in for another, urging to feel that intimacy again. They kiss more, the feeling of closeness easing her pains. He touches her breasts carefully, rubbing her nipples through each contraction. She kisses his neck, breathing heavily against the stubble, feeling the wash of love over her. They sit until it gets dark, touching each other in silence. She doesn’t know if this is a normal way to deal with labor, but it was the only thing to make her feel good.

She notices a jump in contractions and she buries her head into his shoulder and bites him with pain. He loosens her pants, her old jeans unbuttoned but tied with a rope to hold them up. They’ve dried from her waters breaking, but her panties are still damp. He shoves his hands into her panties and immediately finds her clit. She feels wet but she presumes it’s not arousal, but he doesn’t mind. He rubs at the nub, the waves of her contractions mixing in with the wave of her orgasm. She buries her head into his neck as she comes. Foreplay and childbirth become mixed together until she doesn’t know where a contraction is starting and an orgasm is ending. She has to slap his hand away when the ripples of pain turns into an unbearable pressure.

“Take them off,” she pants. He slides off her panties, parts her legs and watches her next contraction. She feels better in her new position, leaning back on her arms, her body open.

“I can see a head.”

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” she swears. It could be early, it could be overdue, all of this could have been wrong, she wouldn’t know until her child was born dead or alive. He lifts her up under her armpits and drags her so she can lean against the cabin wall. Her body takes over, bearing down without her permission, her chin in her chest. She screams and grunts, claws at the ground and cries his name out. It’s tearing her body apart, breaking her pelvis in two and pushing at intimate places of her body. Cas’ hand is rubbing at her entrance, trying to soothe the unbearable pain. It was burning, even with his circle motions against the stretched skin. Her legs are open either side of him, and he’s so close that their child is going to be born onto his lap. “It burns. Help,” she cries. She suddenly feels the ring of fire as her baby crowns. She instinctively puts her hand down to guide her child out of her, she cups under her baby’s head and Cas cups her hand. It’s almost romantic, the two guiding their child out. The head is slick and wet, disgusting if she thought about it too much The pressure suddenly pops, like a cork from a champagne bottle as she delivers the head. She pants, feeling a massive weight off her chest. She waits for a contraction, and she waits, and it doesn’t come. The head is still cupped in her hands. Cas is throwing her shirt open and rubbing at her nipples, trying to encourage her body to wake up again. It’s too long, their head between her legs. She starts to push but her body is too heavy, without a contraction weak. “I can’t,” she finally sighs, leaning back. She holds one hand on the baby, the other limp at her side.

“You can!” he grunts. He’s pulling at their child, trying to create room for its shoulders. He helps her open her legs wider, encouraging her pelvis to widen and she feels the body slowly sliding out. He pushes down in her belly with an almost unbearable force. She rubs at her nipples again before another contraction hits, she instinctively lifts her legs up and pushes the rest of her child out into Cas’ arms. It’s gray and lifeless and her worst fears have been confirmed. This was always going to end like this.

She holds the lifeless child to her chest, rubbing their back, in some form of hope that they’ll wake up. She clutches her child to her bare chest, hiding it beneath the oversized shirt. “Mummy’s here,” she says, rubbing at his back. She instinctively blows on their face and rubs their nose, their skin slick with bodily fluids. Cas is rubbing at their back as well, both of them trying to bring some life into their child. It’s a boy. A blue little boy who would never wake up. “Our son,” she sobs into their cold skin. Cas is tying a shoelace around the umbilical cord, before cutting it with a knife. He takes the child from her arms and starts to rub at its chest, breathing into his mouth, trying CPR on the tiny little body. She has no experience of babies but their son looks too small, maybe he came too early, maybe he died inside her weeks ago, maybe he died on his way out, she’ll never know. He doesn’t react, led lifeless in his father’s arms. Cas looks up at her in sorrow but she’s starting to feel faint.

“Deanna,” he calls, but he’s starting to blur. Her body is shaking, more contractions wrecking her body. Something slides between her legs and then there’s a gush. Her heartbeat is too fast and she has to lean into the wall to get her breath back, her legs falling straight in front of her. Blood is streaking down her thighs and she’s fairly sure she’s going to throw up. “Don’t fall asleep.” He places the cold body of their child on her naked chest before pushing down on her empty belly.

“I love you,” she murmurs. One hand clutching their child against her breast, the other on his neck, pulling at his outgrown hair. "Always have." She laughs as her body goes slack, his begs for her to keep her eyes open fading into the distance.

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoy angsty pregnancy fics check out my other works, I seemed to have found my niche.


End file.
